Jagged Love

by Nicole Simone

  “It doesn’t help that you haven’t gotten laid in two years either,” Monica reminded me.

  “Thanks for pointing that out, Sherlock. He also has an ex-fiancée he isn’t over yet.”

  My admission stopped her laughter real quick. “He has an ex-fiancée?”

  “Yeah. They dated for a year and broke up six months ago. I found a stack of letters she wrote him along with Polaroid pictures.”

  “I’m guessing when you say found, you mean snooped.”

  Guilty as charged, my eyes dropped to the dirty gum-littered sidewalk. I wasn’t proud of my actions. “Yes, I snooped but in my defense I wouldn’t have found out otherwise.”

  “You couldn’t have just asked him?”

  “I guess, but he’s not a very forthcoming person.”

  “How could you know that unless you asked?”

  Monica’s logic was getting on my nerves. Yes, I had snooped and while guilt gnawed away at my bones, I didn’t regret it. It now made sense why he was being cautious. He didn’t want to get hurt again.

  I threw my hands in the air. “Fuck! Stop playing lawyer.”

  “Fine.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Did you know that male and female monkeys mate with multiple partners of both sex?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So don’t let this thing about Andrew ruin what you have together. He is allowed to have a past.”

  My brow knitted together, unable to see the correlation between monkeys mating habits and Andrew having an ex-fiancée. Right as I was about to tap into Monica’s brain, a black SUV slid along the curb. Andrew had arrived.

  I hitched my thumb toward the vehicle. “Do you want a ride?”

  “Hell yes.”

  As we climbed inside the eighty degree heated interior, my eyes found Andrew’s gaze in the rear view mirror. Flashing a grin exclusively for me, I couldn’t help but think I could get used to this as long as whatever this was, lasted.

  Andrew disappeared into his art studio to prepare for his upcoming show. For two days, he literally lived and breathed his creations. We formed a ritual reminiscent of an old married couple. At lunch, I would make myself a peanut butter sandwich and leave the second one on the counter wrapped in cellophane. Andrew would appear, eat, and then go back to his studio.

  Pete closed the coffee shop due to a damaged pipe. Down a job, I had more free time on my hands than I liked. Nonetheless, it gave me a chance to ruminate on how to generate seven hundred dollars within five days. So far, my list contained three ideas: win the lottery, find a stash of money, and working the street corner because apparently prostitution ran in my family. None of them were feasible. Andrew wouldn’t blink if I asked him. However, that wouldn’t happen until pigs flew. I wasn’t a project he could invest in. My pen tapped against the yellow notepad to the beat of my foot. Big Ted had been vague with his timeline yet the desperation hinted at the sooner the better. Nonetheless, if he harmed a hair on Sumiko’s head, the knife hidden in my sock drawer would be put to use. I wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse filleting Big Ted like a slimy fish. On top of the money owed, there was also my dream money. I needed a minimum of a thousand dollars to begin my road trip. Three months would creep up on me sooner than excepted. Hopelessness wrapped around my shoulders. Burying my face into my hands, I groaned.

  “I can’t escape emotional women. I swear you guys are taking over the world.”

  I lifted my head. Matthew leaned against the refrigerator, swigging out of a glass milk bottle. It hit me Matthew was Andrew’s Monica. Didn’t knock, ate all your food, and was more like family than a friend.

  “Andrew is in his studio,” I said.

  “What else is new? That guy would marry his easel and paint brushes if he could.”

  “Has he always painted?”

  Andrew finished the last drops of milk and belched. My nose twitched in revulsion. “Excuse me.” He patted his stomach. “Andrew has painted as long as I have known him, which is about six years. This Saturday is the first time though he is showing his work to the public.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. The dude is incredibly private about his paintings. Nobody is allowed inside his studio except Camilla.” Matthew eyes bulged as he spoke Andrew’s ex-fiancée’s name. “Shit. Forget I said that.”

  The secrecy was what baffled me. Relationships ended, what was so special about Andrew’s?

  As if he saw my determination to seek the answers I craved, Matthew held up his hands and backed toward the hallway. “Oh no. I can’t tell you anything. Zilch, nada, nothing. This is Andrew’s story to tell, not mine.”

  “So there is a story?”

  “Shit!” He stopped halfway through the archway. “Yes, there is a story but that’s all you’re getting.”

  “Can you at least tell me if it’s a happy, sad, or tragic story?”

  Matthew hesitated. “Fine. It’s a mixture of all three.” I opened my mouth to speak but he pressed his fingers against his lips. “Shhhh! You’re a noisy little mouse, aren’t you? Ask Andrew.”

  Andrew’s light didn’t shed further than the earth’s crust. “Do you really think he would tell me?”

  “I have no clue. Has he said anything so far?”

  “Kind of. He said they broke up six months ago.”

  Matthew scoffed. “Please, they were over before they met.” He paused then stomped his foot. “Damn it. I used to be so good at keeping my mouth shut like a proper man. My three girls are making me weak.”

  Andrew took that moment to breeze into the kitchen. Flecks of paint covered his hair. Matthew and I fell silent at his entrance. Andrew opened the cupboard and grabbed a glass.

  As he turned on the tap, Andrew glanced over his shoulder at us. “What’s up? You two look like you swallowed a canary.”

  Our words tumbled over each other in a jumble of over explaining. I shot a death glare at Matthew who turned around and jump shot the milk bottle into the recycling bin.

  “Score!” he yelled.

  The distraction worked. Andrew gulped the water, wiped his mouth and set the glass in the sink. “You need to stop eating me out of my house and tell your wife that you can’t stand her hippy diet anymore,” he said to Matthew.

  “She will yap on about high cholesterol and how I should do it for the kids.”

  Andrew leveled a stare at him. “Grow a pair of balls, dude.”

  “I don’t have balls. My wife stole them.”

  Barking out a laugh, I slapped my palm over my mouth. “Sorry.”

  Andrew looked at us and shook his head as if we were two pesky teenagers. “I can’t deal right now.” Yanking open the fridge, he scanned the continents. “Is there anything I can eat on the go?”

  I assumed he was talking to me. “Yeah, there is quinoa salad in a plastic container near the juice.”

  “Awesome.”

  He shut the door with his foot while balancing an apple, the quinoa salad, and a bottle of water. He slid a look at Matthew. “Go home. I don’t want your wife to steal my balls too.” Andrew pressed a kiss against my hair as he walked past. “I’ll you see later, ok?”

  “Ok.”

  I watched him disappear back into his cave with stars in my eyes. The man had an ability to soften my heart like nobody else.

  Matthew’s chin snapped back and forth between us, quizzically. “When did you two become domesticated? Let alone a couple. Do you like live here now or something?”

  I lifted myself out of the dining room chair. “None of your beeswax. I’ll see you later.”

  “Andrew tends to fall in love fast and furious. Just take things slow like super slow. Slower than molasses. It will be better for both of you in the long run. Alright?”

  Matthew’s concern for his friend was touching, but he had nothing to worry about.

  I touched the crook of his elbow. “We are going at a glacier speed, much to my annoyance.”

  He grinned. “My wife and I waited two months before we hit ho
me base.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  The expression that flashed over his face said it all. “We will be married ten years tomorrow. Through the highs, the lows, and the mundane moments, I have had my best friend by my side. I would have waited a year if I had to. My family is everything.” Mathew leaned in and spoke to the quiet murmurs of doubt that fluttered in my heart. “Camilla wasn’t right, but you—you’re right.”

  My cell phone blared underneath my pillow. I pried open my eyes, surprised to see darkness. It wasn’t time to get up for work so why was my alarm singing? It stopped ringing then picked up again. I blindly reached for my cell phone as panic rung in my ears. Like my mother always said, nothing good happens after 2:00 a.m.

  A blocked number flashed on the call screen. “Hello,” I answered groggily.

  “Is this Haven McClain? Apartment number 201?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to report there was a fire….”

  I bolted upright in bed. The stranger on the phone line droned on, his words blending together.

  “There was a fire?”

  Annoyance crept into his tone. “Yes, there was a fire. I would suggest you come by and….”

  I hung up and tossed my cell phone aside. My feet hit the floor in a mad rush to change into clothes that wouldn’t cause frostbite. Tugging on a sweatshirt, I grabbed my keys and wallet off the dresser. Without a car, I had no other option than to wake up Andrew. I took the stairs two at a time and barged into his room.

  “There was a fire at my apartment building. Will you drive me?” I asked frantically.

  Andrew immediately sprung into action. He rolled out of bed, slipped into jeans and a t-shirt within a five second time frame. If I weren’t overrun with panic, it would have been impressive. We were out the door moments later.

  Andrew sprinted ahead of me. “Did the management company say how bad it was?”

  “No. I hung up before he got to that part but I’m guessing it’s not good.”

  “True.”

  We climbed into his car and roared off into the early morning dawn. My body felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. I glanced at the speedometer, which straddled the line between seventy-five and eighty miles per hour. Andrew white knuckled the steering wheel.

  “Why does the universe hate me?” I said more to myself than to him. “I got good grades in high school, helped old ladies cross the street, and am an overall a kind person.”

  “The universe doesn’t hate you,” Andrew soothed. “Shit happens.”

  “I’m sick of shit happening. I was subjected to a childhood of neglect, found my mother dead, my only other family member stole from me, a drug dealer wants my head on a platter and now everything I own might be in a pile of ashes.” Anger bubbled to the surface and I smacked my palm against the dashboard. The same palm still wrapped in three layers of gauze. A hot white pain snacked up my arm. “FUCK!”

  Andrew didn’t flinch. He acted as always the calm in the middle of a hurricane and smartly chose to remain silent. Reaching across the gearshift, he showed me his support by resting his hand on top of my thigh. Somehow, the tranquil energy he exuded seeped into my pores. Until I saw the plume of smoke rising high in the sky.

  “Please tell me that is a figment of my imagination,” I said.

  His voice was grave as he spoke. “I’m afraid it’s not.”

  Trepidation churned in my stomach, as we got closer to the scene of the fire. Once the car turned the corner on Rose Avenue, chaos spilled from the sidewalks. People lined up behind a police barrier, gross fascination written on their faces. Fire trucks were parked haphazardly in the street; their hoses lay limp and used. Men dressed in forty-five pounds of gear helped occupants of my apartment building to ambulances, while some were already laid out on stretchers, oxygen masks strapped to their mouths. I yanked open the door before the car came to a resting stop. I heard Andrew scream my name but my legs kept running. Ducking underneath the police barrier, smoke curled into my lungs. The building that stood for the independence I’d sought for and won was a shell of itself. Broken windows, charred black brick and a singed awning was all that was left.

  “Excuse me,” I waved my arms to catch the attention of a fireman.

  He glanced over at me with soot smudged over his left eyebrow.

  “When can I go back inside my apartment?”

  He barked out a harsh laugh. “Honey, the building is about to fall down any minute. Nobody is allowed in there unless they have a death wish.”

  “But everything I own is in there….”

  “Yeah? Join the club.”

  Tears pressed against my eyelids. Growing up, I had very little but what I did have was cherished like the ratty teddy bear my mom had given me for my third birthday, the deck of cards Monica had stolen from the corner liquor store, the stack of magazines in my closet, and the ruby ring from Sumiko’s dad the day I became his stepdaughter. Heart wrenching didn’t describe how I felt about never seeing any of it again.

  The fireman’s radio crackled. He listened and then beckoned me to step back. “I need you to go behind the barrier.”

  “Wait!” My cracked voice mirrored how my insides were. “What happened? How did this fire start?”

  “There will be a investigation, but until then I can’t tell you anything.”

  An investigation meant foul play. Would Big Ted be crazy enough to set an apartment building on fire and risk hundreds of lives just to hammer his message home further? The answer to that question terrified me.

  The fireman nudged my feet toward the barrier. “Please Ma’am, I really need you to clear this area.”

  I resisted, my head spinning. “But….”

  “Come on Haven….” Andrew materialized behind me and clasped his hands around my upper arms. “Let’s go.”

  I struggled against his hold. This couldn’t be real. My eyes fluttered closed and then re-opened. The nightmare remained and hysteria clawed its way up my throat. I needed to get my stuff out of my apartment. It was illogical and plain crazy but that was the sole thought running through my head. Big Ted had taken away my mother, my sister, and now the home I had built for myself. I couldn’t let him win. A burst of adrenaline freed me of my restraints. The fireman yelled and rushed toward me, as the building grew closer. Hot air burned my eyes as the sour smell of gasoline wafted underneath my nose. I dodged a citizen in a hero’s disguise. I was so close I could touch the stairs leading to the front door. The ground reached up—falling—falling. My head smacked against the cement. Stars burst in front of my eyes. Blood coated my tongue and I spit out the metallic taste. Ruby red stained the ground. The fight left my body as Andrew scooped me into his arms and carried me to safety.

  “I just wanted my stuff,” I explained against his t-shirt.

  “I know.”

  “But everything is gone.” The tears that were contained spilled down my cheeks. “Everything. Why?” I moan. “Why?”

  Andrew tightened his hold as my misery soaked into his clothes. A fireman removed the barrier and we stepped into the crowd. A load rumble shook the earth and without looking, I knew the building had collapsed, taking with it the ugly and beautiful reminders of my past.

  I am reborn. I am nothing.

  Climbing into Andrew’s bed, I pulled the duvet over my body. I wanted to disappear into a dreamless sleep and wake up to an alternate reality. In the dim light, Andrew removed his shirt and slipped in next to me.

  “Come here,” he opened his arms. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  Like two puzzle pieces, our torsos molded together. I sighed as his warmth seeped into my bones. Andrew stroked my back in lazy circles and I cuddled up to him closer.

  “You can stay here as long as you like,” he said. “My house is yours.”

  His house wasn’t mine. My house had a bipolar stove while his was top of the notch, I had laundry in the basement, and he had laundry in the hall closet. The
differences were endless. Nonetheless, I appreciated the sentiment but as soon as my debt was paid off, I would find a new place to live. I wasn’t my mother.

  My mouth stretched into a yawn. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like having a home to call my own.”

  “Didn’t you have that when you were younger?” Andrew asked.

  “Kind of, but those houses I lived in were exactly that, houses. They weren’t my home. There were never any family photos hanging on the wall, knick-knacks thrown into drawers, or discarded shoes by the entryway. They were empty and sad like my mother.”

  “How ‘bout when you moved in with Sumiko and her father?”

  “Same thing, except I then had Sumiko, my partner in crime.” A ghost of a smile lifted my lips. “Once, we wanted to add color to the house because we thought it was too white. With our savings, we bought cans of brightly colored paint. When her father got home that night, our bedroom was painted fuchsia pink while the bathroom was orange.”

  Andrew’s voice held laughter as he spoke. “What happened?”

  “Sumiko and I each got a smack across the cheek along with the punishment of staying up all night, repainting. By the time morning arrived, I thought my hand would be stuck in a fist forever.” I paused as the memory washed over me. “But it was worth it because in that hour surrounded by that blinding pink, I’d never felt happier.”

  “That’s why I see color when I look at you. You are meant to be happy.”

  I snorted. “Yeah? Because it seems like quite the opposite.”

  “I know it feels like that right now, but I promise you it’s out there.”

  Propping myself up on my elbows, I looked at Andrew underneath my eyelashes. “How did you get so positive?”

  “My mom. She didn’t believe in whining or complaining. She only believed in seeing the good in things. When I was younger, it was annoying because sometimes you just want to stew in your own misery.”

  My chin dipped in understanding.

  He absently twirled a lock of my hair around his finger and carried on. “This past year though, I applied her outlook. It didn’t help at first, until one day I woke up and my first thought wasn’t pessimistic. It was about how beautiful the fall leaves looked.”